


Here Comes the Sun

by OwlPost7



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, M/M, Parentlock, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, baby girl watson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 17:10:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2659889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OwlPost7/pseuds/OwlPost7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a case is wrapped up sooner than expected, the Watson-Holmes family spends a day at the beach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here Comes the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little ficlet that wouldn't leave me alone until it made its way out of my system through my fingertips. Banged out in about two days - unbeta'd, unbritpicked. Any and all mistakes are my own.
> 
> Just as tooth-rottingly saccharine as it sounds.

John turned over on his towel to allow the sun to warm the bare skin of his back. He turned his face to the right and opened one eye to look up at Sherlock, who was safely sequestered under the shade of the large parasol, reading a book he’d seen in a used English-language book shop window just that morning and _begged_ for John to let him get - _Monophyly and Extensive Extinction of Advanced Eusocial Bees._

The detective in question was wearing dark sunglasses, a bucket hat with a ridiculous tropical print on it that he’d been forced by necessity to buy from the hotel gift shop, and a plain grey T-shirt - the most clothing he could possibly wear without risking heat stroke, and John had had to fight him to compromise to even that. Any part of his body that had been left uncovered by clothing was in turn coated in a thick white layer of sunblock.

Sherlock apparently felt John’s eyes on him after a few seconds, for he glanced at him over the brim of his sunglasses and returned the smile on John’s lips with an upward flick of his own before returning to his reading. John gave a content sigh and closed his eyes again, listening to the waves and the sounds of the other beachgoers that populated the vicinity.

On Monday morning, Sherlock had gotten a call from Lestrade about a case involving the mysterious disappearance of a Spanish ambassador’s children, and with Mrs Hudson out in the country at her sister’s for the week and thus unavailable for babysitting duty, the three Watson-Holmeses were on a plane to Valencia by that afternoon. The case had taken less time to solve than expected upon arriving, though - Sherlock’s brilliance having been untarnished by the obstacle of having to deal with the local police force in Spanish - which had resulted in two extra days spent in a five-star hotel by the Mediterranean, courtesy of the overwhelmingly thankful ambassador, and, well... John certainly wasn’t complaining.

“Papa, come see!”

John heard Mia’s voice and smiled at her enthusiasm, so like Sherlock’s when he found something to peak his interest. He stretched, stood from his chaise, and walked down closer to the waves, coming up to crouch behind his nearly three-year-old daughter, kissing the back of her head.

“Yes, love?”

Mia - crouched, herself - turned her head to look at her father and pointed at the sand just in front of her. Her caramel hair danced in the ocean breeze, stronger here than back where John had been sunbathing.

“I think I found something alive,” she confided in a conspiratory whisper that was almost drowned out by the sound of the waves and the nearby families enjoying the beach, as if she were sharing information of national importance.

“Oh! Show me,” replied John in equally hushed tones.

Mia dropped from her crouch to her knees, then leaned forward on one hand and pointed with the other.

Indeed, half-buried in the sand where Mia was pointing, was a small white seashell not five centimetres long, inconspicuous amongst the others that dotted the sand save for the fact that eight thin red limbs and two small pincers creeped out of it and moved lazily in the sand. Two eyestalks emerged from the shell and looked up at the pair.

“Oh, wow! Look at that,” exclaimed John, and Mia turned to look him again, navy eyes gleaming and excitement etched into her young features.

“What is it, Papa?” she whispered, wonder in her wide eyes, and John couldn’t help but be reminded of Sherlock yet again by her burning, bottomless curiosity. He remembered that even only a few months after her birth, it had become readily apparent that the rough half of Mia Watson’s genetic code that had come from John pretty much only coded for external appearance - her caramel hair was just a tad darker than John’s, and her dark blue eyes were a bit larger in proportion to the rest of her face, but the Watson resemblance was definitely there. In personality, however, she much more closely resembled one Sherlock Holmes, who, despite not having contributed any sequence of nitrogen bases to the formation of the small human, had managed to imbue her with his entire essence of being so that the two had turned out to be, as they say, two peas in a pod.

Mia, sensing her father had gone somewhere far away and annoyed by it, put her hand on his knee to get his attention.  John blinked and looked down at her hand, furrowing his brow as he played back the last few seconds of their conversation.

“It’s a little crab, darling. They live in the sand and sometimes they come up for a swim.” He smiled at her and she smiled back, then looked back down to their new friend.

“Can we keep him, Papa? Please?”

"Oh, I don't think so, darling."

Mia snapped her head up toward John's with an expression of pure desolation that broke John's heart a little to see. "Why not?"

"Well, crabs live at beach, lovely,” he said, stroking her hair. “They like their sand and their ocean. Just like you like your bedroom and the flat and the parks, back in London. It wouldn't be very nice of us to take this fellow away from his home, would it?"

"No," replied Mia in that tone of voice that said _I understand this is what I'm expected to say but I'll have you know I don't agree with it at all._ "But... But what if someone steps on him?"

"Oh, this little guy doesn't have to worry about being stepped on," replied John. He inched closer to the animal and pointed at the creamy white spiral shell. "See that?" Mia nodded. "That's his shell. He can tuck himself away inside it, and it's really hard, so that if someone steps on it, he won't feel a thing."

Mia looked unsure about that, obviously still concerned about her new friend's well-being. John looked at her and she looked straight back for a few seconds before she visibly relaxed, having apparently decided to take John's word for it. John gave her a small smile, which she slowly returned.

"What else do you know about crabs, Papa?"

John chuckled and turned back to where they’d set up camp - two chaises and a towel aligned on the sand, a cooler, two canvas bags filled with beach supplies, and six feet of consulting detective still sheltered under the large red and white striped parasol.

“What do you think, Daddy?” called John with something of a cheeky smile. "Up for a little lesson?"

Sherlock, who’d been pretending to read but had obviously lost interest momentarily and instead begun watching the exchange from afar, gave one of his little shrugs. “About what? I can’t very well hear you two whispering from here, can I, John?” His tone was the one of impatience he usually reserved for when someone was being slow on the uptake during a case or made an obvious or incorrect deduction in his presence, but the smile playing on his lips a playful quirk of his eyebrows told another story.

“Well,” answered John, turning more fully toward his husband. “You’ll just have to come here and look, now, won’t you?” He grinned and lifted his eyebrows in a challenge.

Sherlock huffed in exasperation. Truth was, he hadn’t left the safety of the shade provided by the parasol in the whole time they’d been at the beach, despite John and Mia’s attempts to get him to jump the waves with them or help in the construction of a sandcastle.

“John,” began Sherlock in a trying voice.

“Oh, come on, Sherlock, you can survive five minutes in the sun.”

“I’ll _burn_ , John. Surely I’ve told you this enough times in the course of the day that you might remember?”

“Daddy, please?” Mia’s heartbroken voice interrupted John’s coming reply. The sudden shift in tone made John look down at his daughter, who looked back up to him and gave him a nearly imperceptible quirk of her lips before returning a distressed gaze to Sherlock. _Oh, you clever girl_ , thought John, shaking his head infinitesimally. Her attempts at making her father participate in the day’s seaside activities had been half-hearted at best, her attention always otherwise occupied in more interesting matters, but now that there was something in it for her... John was going to have a word with Sherlock about how often he put his acting skills to use in front of the child during cases.

The act had its desired effect, though. Sherlock - never having been good at denying Mia of anything at all, when she really asked for it - deliberated a second longer, then seemed to make up his mind with a huff and a good-natured roll of his eyes. Mia crowed with glee when he swung his legs off the chaise he’d been occupying and stood, making a show of the incredible sacrifice he was making before walking down toward his family.

Sherlock knelt down next to them. “Happy?” he asked John, who merely grinned at his husband.

“Very much so,” replied John, pulling Sherlock in for a chaste kiss.

“Stop it,” ordered Mia as she wriggled between her fathers to redirect their attention back to her, annoyed at their distraction. “Daddy, look.” She pointed again at the crab, which had walked a ways to the right during the exchange.

“Oh, a most interesting specimen,” said Sherlock in the thoughtful yet playful voice he often used when Mia brought him things she wanted explained - rocks, flowers, anything that caught her attention - and Mia giggled and preened with pride at having found something interesting; _interesting_ pretty much being the highest compliment of which she was aware.

The little crab had kept slowly walking along, and was now about a meter away from its original position. Mia giggled further and even John chuckled and shook his head fondly when Sherlock dropped flat to the ground and brought his face up close to the crab, who seemed to sense a predator and stood still, looking up at the overlarge human staring him down with a look of utmost concentration.

“What can you tell us about crabs, love?” asked John. He himself wasn’t wildly interested in crabs, but watching Sherlock give their daughter science lessons and seeing both of their faces light up with intrigue and wonderment at how the world worked remained one of John’s favourite things in the universe.

Mia watched with rapt attention as her father began to explain. “Crabs are part of a group of animals called crustaceans, which includes other animals like lobsters and shrimp. Here, come closer,” he said as he himself drew up closer to the object of his attention. John and Mia obliged, and the three of them formed a sort of half moon around the crab.

“Look at his legs and pincers. See how they have a sort of armour?” Mia nodded. “That’s something called an exoskeleton. You know how Papa showed you that picture of all the bones that people have on the inside?”

Mia nodded vigorously, eager to please and prove she could remember. “The excel- the exkeleton!”

“The skeleton, yes. Well, some animals, like people and dogs and cows and such, have bones on the inside to help them move and stand up and do all sorts of things. But some other animals like crabs have it on the outside, and that’s the shield that you see.”

“Wow,” whispered Mia. She looked at each of her fathers in turn, an expression of _I can’t believe I’m being allowed to know this_ on her features. “That’s brilliant.”

Sherlock looked at John, and the half-smile, half-smirk he’d had been sporting turned into a full-blown grin. John returned it with one of his own, and he knew they were both remembering the first time he himself had said those words to Sherlock, so, so many years ago, and all the times he’d said it since, and that somehow, eventually, it had led to this. Not just their daughter saying it, surely picking up habits from her father, but the fact that they had a daughter at all, that they were spending the day with her on a beach in Spain and teaching her about _crabs_ , of all things.

“Tell us more,” said John before he could throw himself at his husband and snog him senseless right there in the beach in front of their daughter and God and everybody.

Sherlock gave him one last smile and continued. “The smallest species of crab is the Pea Crab, which can be as small as point six centimetres - about this big,” he lifted one hand from the sand and pinched his thumb and forefinger to represent the appropriate measurement. Mia gasped and her eyes widened.

“That small?” she asked with a tone of amazed incredulity.

Sherlock smiled and nodded. “That small. And you’ll never guess how large the biggest kind of crab is.”

“How big is it?” she asked, still sounding and looking thoroughly mind-blown.

“How big do _you_ think?” asked Sherlock. This was part of what John loved about these impromptu lessons - how Sherlock didn’t just give Mia information to store away in her mind, but encouraged her to try to find the answers on her own. It was obvious that the concept of _the thrill of the chase_ was important to Sherlock not only in the literal sense, but in the search for knowledge, as well.

Mia furrowed her brow and thought for a moment. She extended her arms in front of her and made a _this big_ gesture with her hands about her shoulder-width apart, then looked questioningly at Sherlock. The detective smiled and shook his head no. Mia spread her hands a bit further apart, and once again, Sherlock shook his head, looking good-naturedly smug. Mia then threw her arms to the sides and giggled, obviously thinking it would be absurd for any creature to be that large. And once again, Sherlock shook his head.

Mia looked at him quizzically and hesitated. “Bigger than _that_?!”

Sherlock finally picked himself up from his flat-on-the-ground position and crouched next to Mia and John, who was alternating between watching his family fondly and keeping an eye on the little crab, not wanting Mia to become upset if it was to wander too far away.

“Much bigger than that. The Japanese Spider Crab is the biggest kind of crab and it can go from here,” he stood and drew a line in the sand with his toe, “all the way to here.” He walked a few paces away from them, and even John was impressed with how far he went before he drew another line. “About three and a half metres,” called Sherlock.

Mia’s eyes went wide as saucers as she looked from Sherlock to the crab to John and back again, trying to wrap her little mind around the concept of an animal that large. John didn’t blame her - he could hardly believe it himself.

He leaned back on his hands and looked up at his husband making his way back toward them. Sherlock swooped Mia into his arms, balanced her on his hip, and peppered her face with kisses. She broke out of her awe-induced trance and shrieked in delight, then dissolved into a fit of giggles. John joined in, then Sherlock, and he didn't know who started it, but soon enough they were engaged in a splash battle, chasing each other loudly across the beach and getting wet when the waves came in.

* * *

“It  _hurts_ , John!”

“Yes, I know it hurts, that’s why I’m trying to get you to stay still long enough to let me help you!”

Sherlock was lying shirtless on his front on the hotel bed, John standing at the edge of the bed with aloe vera sunburn lotion cupped in one hand, bottle in the other. Sherlock really hadn’t been exaggerating when he said he burned easily - every inch of his skin that hadn’t been covered by clothing was burnt an angry shade of red. He’d even blistered a bit on his arms, and John would feel terrible for him if only he’d _lie still and let him put the lotion on, for God’s sake_.

Sherlock squirmed on the bed, trying to wriggle away from John without hurting too much. “I don’t want it, just leave me alone!” he cried petulantly.

John looked at Mia, who was settled on an armchair in the corner of the room, playing with the plush crab toy she’d insisted on getting from one of the tourist shops on the way back to the hotel. Thank goodness she was distracted - he didn’t want her picking up this childish behaviour, especially not from her _father_ , of all people.

John sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. “Sherlock, you sound more like a three-year-old than our actual three-year-old. Stop squirming and let’s get this over with.”

“But-”

“Oh for God’s sake.” John climbed onto the bed and settled himself, straddling Sherlock’s lower back - which had remained blessedly unburnt thanks to the T-shirt he was now glad he’d allowed Sherlock to wear - effectively pinning him down.

“John! What are you doing? Get off me this insta-ah!” John pressed his lotion-slicked fingers onto the nape of Sherlock’s neck as gently as he could and slowly rubbed the lotion onto the irritated area between Sherlock’s hairline and the distinct line where the collar of his shirt had been.

Sherlock stiffened underneath him, trying not to jostle John and accidentally make him press any more firmly than needed. “John, stop it, please stop it, it burns!”

John simply replied by gently blowing on the newly applied gel on Sherlock's neck.

"Jo-" began Sherlock's protest, but it quickly died on his lips as he felt the relief of the cool sensation on the burn. "- oh."

The tension leaked out of his body, remaining still but at least relaxed. John smiled smugly.

"Do my arms, do my arms," he ordered, and John complied, relishing the sounds of relief coming from beneath him.

A few minutes later, when John was nearly done coating the rest of the burns on Sherlock’s body, Mia’s voice broke the comfortable silence.

“Papa, can I help?”

John smiled and looked to his right just in time to see Mia climb onto the bed next to them. She was wearing her favourite set of pyjamas - white and baby blue stripes with little bees dotted around, courtesy of Sherlock as an early birthday present - and her hair was still damp from her post-beach bath.

“Sure you can, love,” he replied, stifling a chuckle as he felt Sherlock stiffen underneath him again.

“Uh, John-”

John rolled off of Sherlock and onto the bed next to Mia, wiping his hands on a nearby towel.

“You can help like this, watch.”

Years of experience of being intimately familiar with Sherlock’s body had given John the ammunition to know exactly where and how to stage an attack, and just then he decided to put the knowledge to good use.

Quickly, before Sherlock could figure out what was going on and squirm away, John poked him in the ribs, eliciting a giggle from Mia and an undignified half-laugh, half-squawk from the detective, who lifted his head to give John a look of disbelief.

“Did you just-”

Another poke, another noise, though more distinctly a strained sort of laugh than a squawk.

“What- Stop that.”

Mia giggled harder, and scooted up closer to Sherlock. Quickly, before Sherlock had a chance to stop her, she poked him right where John had.

John had to laugh out loud at Sherlock’s little giggle followed by slack-jawed look of outright indignation.

“Amelia. Stop this at once.” Mia hesitated at the mention of her full name and looked up at John, checking to see if she was in trouble.

“As long as you don’t touch the red parts, you can do as you like, darling,” said John with a grin and a conspiratory wink.

“No you ca- John! John stop it!”

And together, Mia and John spent the next few minutes decidedly _not_ stopping it.

**Author's Note:**

> Adding this to a collection because I'm quite liking little Mia. Might keep her around for a while...


End file.
